


Sylar's Nightmares: A Collection

by Telas_Selar



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Amputee main character, Angst, Crying, Dominant!Cristóbal Rios/Submissive!S'vec Sylar, Fainting, Fire, Fluff, Force-Feeding, M/M, Manhandling, Married!Syrios, Mindfuck, Miseltoe Poisoning, Muscle Weakness, Nightmares, No one is nice because this is not real, Overstimulation, Poisoned S'vec Sylar, S'vec Sylar has PTSD, Seizures, Vomiting, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan soulbonds, Whipping, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: A series of one-shots based off a tumblr challenge; each chapter is named for the Star Trek: Picard character the nightmare predominantly features. Requests are always open for more chapters.
Relationships: Agnes Jurati & S'vec Sylar, Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar
Kudos: 3





	1. Cristóbal

It started with the lights. 

A brightly lit room with vast ceiling beams in the style of the late 21st century, filled with the guests who had attended the wedding ceremony of Captain Cristóbal Rios and his Vulcan physician, the final documentation of a relationship which had lasted several years prior to this official union. 

Sylar and the Captain were dancing to old Earth music, something the shorter man had little experience with, but his husband's firm grip on his waist grounded him, the gentle brush of soft lips against the shell of his sensitive ear kept him very alert and very flustered, just the way Rios liked him. 

Sylar knew that there were others around them, engaging in a similar motion, but every time he shifted to look at them, the Captain's teeth grazed his bare skin, making him shiver with unprecedented pleasure but it had the intended effect - he turned back to face his husband, whose lips quirked up in satisfaction.

It was simple; cause and effect, something Sylar wasn't inclined to take too seriously, until all the lights went out, one by one. 

His brow furrowed and he shifted for what would be the fourth time to try and look around him, and the reprimanding nip at his earlobe came as expected, although this time it was slightly more forceful than it had been before. 

“Don't turn away” Rios muttered. 

“Sir, there appears to be a problem…with the lighting-” Sylar protested, eyes fluttering shut as he felt his legs grow weak. 

“I _said_ don't turn away from me.”

There was a growing edge to the Captain's tone, one which Sylar had never heard there before, and it made him open his eyes in concern. Was the other man alright? Could he perhaps offer some psychological comfort to him? 

But Rios did not seem to want psychological comfort as his grip tightened, making Sylar's brow furrow. A show of dominance, he realised mildly. 

“I would never, Captain” The Vulcan assured his husband. “However, it is only logical to-” 

He never got there, as he felt the other man's hands move from his waist, one wrapping around his throat and shoving him back against a wall, the other gripping his wrists instead and forcing them above his head. Sylar went willingly, although surprised by the other man's turn to roughness over his usual type of dominance. This was…well, this was what Sylar had always wanted, a rougher hand. What was he complaining for? He moaned softly, as the hand around his throat dropped, the grip on his wrists turning almost bruisingly rough, the fingers of both the Captain's hands snaking their way down to intertwine with his own, nails digging harshly into the hypersensitive skin. For a moment, Sylar forgot the strange blackout, the other's unusual statement that he refrain from turning away, and allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, melting into Rios' touch. He couldn't help it, nor could he help the moans he choked out as the intensity of the Captain's ministrations only increased. 

“Sir, please-” Sylar managed weakly. He knew that he couldn't keep his grasp on a state of consciousness much longer if the overstimulation continued, yet Rios took no notice, shifting only to press his lips to the Vulcan's neck, teeth sinking into the bare flesh without any regard for the shorter man's hypersensitivity at all. 

Sylar cried out in a mixture of both arousal and pain, two states which often merged within his tormented mind, a sharp silver line jolting from behind his eyes as he fainted. 

The scene changed. 

_Vulcan was burning._

S'vec Sylar was running, but where to, he couldn't see, couldn't tell. His acrid smell of smoke filled the air, obscured his vision, brought stinging tears to his eyes, and he tripped over the hem of his robes, falling hard against jagged rocks. Pain jolted through him, and he tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, but he scrambled to his feet immediately, suddenly aware of agonising screams that caused an involuntary wince to leave his throat. He put up a hand to try and feel his way through the smokescreen, and was surprised to feel the weight of something in his palm. 

Smooth…engraved…calligraphic. The pendant necklace given to those about to complete the ritual of Kolinahr. 

Sylar's brow furrowed. He'd already completed Kolinahr twice, so why—

His train of thought was cut off by the increase in the pitch of the screams, which appeared to be coming from all around him now. Screams he suddenly began to recognise… 

_“Ashal-veh?”_ He called out in a tone which was only slightly less composed as it had been moments prior, sliding the pendant into the pocket of his robes. _“Qual se tu?”_

The screams stopped, almost as though they had been turned off with a switch, making Sylar's brow furrow again. He wasn't convinced of any danger to him, but he was growing confused. The smoke remained impenetrable as far as the eye could see, and he could feel the flames of a hidden fire wherever he stepped foot, yet there was ringing silence. Complete and utter silence. 

He took another step forwards, and two hands, burned almost black, gripped him by the front of his robes and hurled him to the ground, next to a motionless figure whom he could now clearly see - his recently wed husband, still dressed in the ceremonial Terran clothing, dark red blood with no clear source rapidly staining his suit. Sylar put two fingers to his Captain's pulse, but there was none to find. 

Something akin to dread began to settle over him as he looked up, facing the one who had pulled him from the depths of the smoke. 

“I _told_ you not to _turn away_ from me!” Yelled the heavily injured man stumbling towards him, and Sylar turned to find the corpse beside him had vanished. 

“Captain, I-” He started, but the man wasn't listening as he bore down on him with a very familiar device wrapped about his wrist. 

“You _really_ can't take orders, can you?” 

The Vulcan trembled and tried to turn away, but the electric whip sliced mercilessly through his cheekbone, his chest, his thighs, tearing the robes he'd so very carefully put together not so long ago, not that it mattered now. 

“I should have married someone with a bit more _emotion-_ ” 

Sylar was surprised by the sob that left his own throat at this proclamation. He never cried. Yet as he heard the other's anger rain down on him with every new strike of the whip in the form of hatred against everything he was, everything he couldn't help being, the tears came easily. 

And that was how he awoke from the dark depths of his mind's worst manifestations, trembling, his eyes aflame with tears that were all too real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "Ashal-veh" - "Beloved" like "ashayam"  
> "Qual se tu?" - "Is it you?" note that "tu" is the intimate pronoun reserved for one's t'hy'la


	2. Agnes

“You should really try the cake.”

Round blue eyes so unlike Sylar’s own met his gaze, a gentle smile quirking up the lips of the much younger woman sitting cross-legged on the bench across from him. The Vulcan tilted his head very slightly, watching as Doctor Agnes Jurati held up her plate of what looked like a slice of frosted cake with small pink sugar roses pressed into the icing, lifting her fork to her mouth as she did so. Sylar’s gaze travelled downwards, to the table between him and his companion, before it settled on the larger cake, which had that same pale colouring, but was missing a slice at the far end.

He could never truly understand the Terran fascination with soft, sugary food, but he’d learned over time that his sharing said soft sugary food with them was psychologically calming to them in a sense, so he moved to pick up his empty plate, only to find that there was a fresh slice of cake already resting on it.

His brow furrowed but he thought nothing of it, picking up his fork and slowly cutting off a small piece of the cake and placing it in his mouth. 

All at once, the burst of flavour overwhelmed his still-unacustomed Vulcan taste buds and he winced inaudibly, hoping that Agnes hadn’t noticed. He knew how much she loved cake.

It appeared she hadn’t however, busy cutting herself a new slice as he chewed slowly, somehow managing not to grimace over the next few bites - it was good, he supposed, once you got past the way the sugar made your tongue numb all over, and the way it caused your jaw to ache- The Vulcan put the back of his hand up to his cheek, confused by this last, only to realise that it was shaking, really shaking, almost too hard to allow him to keep holding the plate and fork. He put them down sharply, making his companion turn around, her beaming smile back on her face.

“Do you like it?” She asked, indicating the cake, before taking another bite.

“I- I do-” Sylar seemed to be struggling to form words as heaviness crept slowly but surely into his limbs, a burning pain starting in his abdomen. 

Agnes watched this without a single flicker of concern in her expression, but as the Vulcan’s eyelids started to close, the young scientist giggled through a mouthful of cake.

“Oh” She said, watching Sylar stumblr off the bench, collapsing on his side as his muscles began to seize up. “I forgot to tell you - it’s poisoned. Mistletoe.”

A low whine left the Vulcan as the back of his head struck the cold tile, hard, limbs jerking uncontrollably. “Wh- wha-” He mumbled, clearly trying to inquire about the aforementioned plant, and Agnes carefully set down her plate, crawling over to him once the seizure was over.

“Mistletoe. It’s this really cool Earth plant - poisonous to species like yours of course. Vulcans; for all your  _ posturing _ and  _ lecturing _ and  _ wisdom _ -” Agnes was giggling again as she picked up his discarded plate and cut a new bit of cake.. “You’re  _ really _ susceptible to plant-based poisons.”

Sylar’s eyelids were too heavy and painful to open properly, but he felt Agnes’ hands pull him into a crude sitting up position, felt the fork slide past his lips again, forcing another mouthful of the poisoned cake into his mouth. He whimpered softly, incapable of pulling away, as his companion kept going, placing bite-sized pieces of cake on his tongue, watching him give in and chew on them when he could no longer tolerate the lack of air.

“Come on” She coaxed him, until he couldn’t take it anymore and flinched unevenly away from her, hitting his head on the bench, hard enough to cause stars to explode behind his drooping eyelids.

The abdominal pain was increasing now, and he could taste bile in his throat. His hand muscles tried to curl in on themselves but he was weak, so weak. Another helpless whimper left him before he lost control, emptying the contents of his stomach over and over again.

Small white berries tumbled out, rolling across the tiles of the mess hall, so many of them it was impossible to count..

The Vulcan startled awake with a jolt in the medbay, a loaded hypospray still in his hands. A PADD open to a list of old Earth poisons lay in front of him. His head pounded.


End file.
